


Surprise Me

by Anika_Ann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (potentially), Attempt at Humor, Drawing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, I Had To, Less Hilarious Than It Could Have Been, Meet-Cute, PSAs, Reader Is Director’s PA, Reader-Insert, Sketches, So…You Had This Silly Idea, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Strangers to Lovers, This Is Just Cute TBH, What’s a PA, and You Hope You Didn’t Screw Up, rappin with cap, self-depreciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-01 06:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17239541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: Thanks to your friend, you got a job as a P.A. to a director she often works with. With a little help from lady fortune, you actually ended up on set… where Captain America’s PSAs for school kids are being filmed.So… the chances are that you’re gonna screw up, especially when interacting with Captain Rogers himself.To be fair, it’s not your fault the lines are so damn funny.





	1. A dancing monkey

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies, I only watched all the Captain’s PSAs recently. Kudos to Chris Evans for keeping a straight face for at least one shot so they could use it. I think it actually beats his cameo in Thor: Dark World and that means a lot, because adore that one :)
> 
> Also, I’m sorry for the not-so-original title. It was of the are-you-kidding-me-I-have-to-give-this fic-a-title-isn’t-it-enough-that-I-wrote-that-damn-thing kind of situations.

“Hi, I’m Captain America and I’m here to talk about one of the most important weapons in any soldier’s arsenal: math.”

You snorted silently, quickly turning away from the source and covering your mouth in order to disguise the noise as a cough.

You hoped with your whole heart that your little outburst went unnoticed, because otherwise, you would be so fired.

You had got the gig of being director Michael Pratt’s P.A. thanks to your good friend, who had managed to put a good word about a girl in her last year in college, who was very hardworking  and a quick learner – hint: you – and was more than willing to take the insane hours with almost zero breaks. With Abby handling the sound during the filming of something they called ‘Rappin with Cap’ and the director having good experience with her so far, he had believed her.

So here you were, on set, enslaved by the director, but also seeing the world’s first superhero in person, fully in his… costume? and his short sketches they were meant to be perfectly serious, but mostly had you roaring with laugher. You weren’t sure whether it was the fact he seemed utterly uncomfortable (and very cute) between the takes, nearly blushing as if he knew exactly how ridiculous the lines were, or the lines themselves.

“As a soldier and an Avenger, I’ve seen many exciting things. But you know what’s really exciting? Reading!” he exclaimed, continuing the take and you muffled the roar of laugher, curling onto yourself and hiding behind the nearest corner as tears sprang from your eyes.

Thinking about it again, maybe the exhaustion was taking its toll on you and you were slowly getting insane with nearly six hours on your feet nonstop, doing the most basic tasks for a guy who was too lazy to get a coffee by himself – you were a bit surprised he was able to take a _piss_ without your help.

You were drying your tears, trying your best to calm down and put on a mask of an obedient modern slave (aka P.A.), when you heard the loud claps.

“Alright, people, let’s have a lunch break, an hour and half. I want you everyone back here by half past one,” Pratt called out loudly in his favourite bossy tone. You weren’t sure if an official break was a good thing – it didn’t apply for you. “And I mean every— where the hell is-“

Your heart jumped to your throat and you nearly ran to your boss’ side, almost knocking him down with the speed you had to gear up.

“Right here, Mr. Pratt. What can I do for you?”

He slammed few papers to your chest. “I made some modifications. Make copies for everyone and distribute it…. go!”

“Yes, Mr. Pratt,” you said dutifully, spinning on your heels and uttered a silent sarcastic ‘sir’ no one could hear. “I’ll get right on it…”

You clutched the screenplays – why did they even needed so many of them, it was _one person_ speaking – closer to your chest and paced away.

If the money wasn’t so good, you would have crumbled the papers up in balls and started throwing them right to Pratt’s arrogant face. With your luck and aim, you might even hit him. Once.

 ---

Twenty minutes later, you were about to stop at the place you left as the last, mostly because you were freaking nervous. You were surprised that with the tempo your heart was going, heat spreading all over your body, your palms weren’t sweaty enough for the papers to get stuck to your hands. With a loud gulp, you knocked on Captain Rogers van’s door.

Only not to get a response. You frowned and knocked again, half annoyed at the idea of chasing him all over the site, half horrified that he was actually in and you would be disturbing him from… yeah, you had no idea what. What was a superhero doing when catching a break? Sit-ups? Chin-ups? Or getting his beauty sleep? Or getting sweaty in a completely—no, _nope,_ do not even go there….

When you were only met with silence, you carefully tried to twist the handle – the door opened easily and you stopped yourself from stepping inside before you could embarrass yourself by walking on him doing whatever.

“Captain Rogers?” you called out silently, praying you weren’t intruding. “I’m sorry to interrupt your personal time, I’m just here with the screenplays.”

You set a foot inside his van, peeking in, only to find him by a table, closing a little book. The upper part of his get-up was unzipped, crumbled and yet strangely tented around his waist, revealing a simple white tank top you didn’t see too often these days – but hell, did it accentuate his huge muscular arms, making you want to touch them just to know they were real.

You blushed furiously when you realized you were staring, hastily walking in without permission, which was incredibly rude. When you realized _that,_ you just wished for the Earth to swallow you.

But he gave you a small smile. Mentally, you sighed in relief – he didn’t seem bothered by your presence or inappropriate behaviour; though he did look tired to put it mildly.

You handed him the papers with another gulp and silent ‘here.’

“Thank you.”

You winced a little at the strange feeling his voice sent through your body, bucking into the table he was at. It rattled a little, which caused the thin small book fall pages down, a pencil landing right next to it.

“Goddammit— I’m sorry,” you blurted out, quickly crouching and reaching for it.

“It’s okay, I’ll-“ he said at the same time, extending his hand to get it as well.

Too bad; you were faster. You turned the book pages up to examine the damage; but, boy, you were not ready for what you saw.

Your breath hitched at the sight; you couldn’t tear your eyes away. It was perfect. Every line, even when drawn around the shapes, seemed to have a purpose. The details were amazing, the hatching brining the image to life, making your lips part in amazement.

The message was a bit bitter you guessed – alright, _a lot_ – but the drawing was still fascinating. It was a picture of a monkey balancing on unicycle, caring an umbrella in one hand, an unmistakeable shield with a star in its middle in its other hand. Not to leave any doubts, the monkey was definitely wearing Captain’s gear.

Your fingers automatically traced the star on the middle of monkey’s chest, immediately retreating when it hit you the action might harm the drawing. Your gaze rose to the author and you wordlessly handed him the sketchbook, yourself standing upright.

His expression was torn, a hint of red staining the tip of his ears as he swiftly closed it.

“It’s beautiful,” you said without thinking, instantly smacking a hand over your mouth. What did you just say?! He blinked in surprise and you went to correct yourself.  “I mean… yeah. The drawing is amazing. The way it speaks, not so much, but… it’s almost as a photograph. You’re incredible.”

At that, his eyebrows actually rose inconspicuously and you closed your eyes, mentally counting to ten. You did _not_ just say that to Captain America, right?

“Thank you,” he whispered, making you snap your eyes open. A self-depreciating smile appeared on his lips and he scratched the back of his neck as if embarrassed. _He_ was embarrassed? What did that make _you_ then?

 _Awkward_ , the word you’re looking for is ‘awkward’.

“Well, it’s the truth.” You bit your lip, when he smiled again, a bit wider, but the light faded away from his eyes. You hesitated, suddenly seeing a man feeling much smaller than he was.

“The… incredible part, I mean, not the message of the picture,” you babbled, earning a head tilt from him, his eyes searching in your face.

You could only guess if he was used to hearing it and now was trying to decide whether you were being honest or was just fawn over him. Oh, you were being honest. Sometimes brutally so and this was no exception.

He surprised you when he lowered his gaze, setting the sketchbook on the table delicately, right next to the papers you had brought. Oh, you barely remembered the reason for your visit now, intrigued by the man in front of you.

“It’s just… it does feel like the old times. I’m ridiculous, making a fool of myself when asked and… it’s like everything I tried to fight for means nothing…” he said quietly and then shook his head abruptly. “I’m sorry, this is a total overshare. I’m sure you have-”

You sat beside him on instinct, barely stopping yourself from putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

What the hell was wrong with you? Boundaries!

But god, he looked so… lost in the world. It made your chest tighten, seeing a huge man in every sense of the word struggling; in an unfairly endearing way, needless to say.

“That’s not true,” you whispered, not quite believing what you were seeing.

He chuckled bitterly at the note. “I should be doing better than this. It’s like when I got injected, but was the only one and the colonel told me that he had  asked for an army and only got me and I wasn’t enough.”

“Sounds like a bit of a prick, if you ask me,” you blurted out automatically, earning a raised eyebrow and another chuckle, this time sounding amused. “Oh crap – I mean. Sorry. There’s one on foul language too, isn’t there?”

You gestured to the screenplay and he nodded with a silent laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, there is. It’s okay though. I did serve in the army, trust me, I’m used to much worse.”

It did not ease the heat colouring your cheeks, but it made you feel a bit better. Enough to pluck up your courage to speak and explain your sentiment.

“ _Exactly_. You did serve in the army. And people remember that, Captain Rogers. That’s what they see. Not to mention how many kids, hell, people in general, are looking up to you. You have the power to help raise a generation of people who actually have manners. But just because you’re doing few videos, it doesn’t mean that that’s all of you. You’re still you. You’re still Captain America, the war hero, the Avenger who helped to save Manhattan during an alien invasion, you’re still… you’re still Steve Rogers. You’re so much more than a figure on a screen reciting lines like a dancing monkey, Captain,” you finished with a gentle incredulous smile.

You couldn’t believe you were comforting a hundred-year-old supersoldier. An Avenger, for god’s sake. Had you fell asleep on job and were dreaming now? Nope, not an option, you imagination wasn’t that creative.

He was silent for a long time, so long that you wondered if you had said something truly wrong. He seemed lost in thought and you considered leaving him alone. You shifted uncomfortably and that was when his absent gaze aimed straight into yours, causing your heart to make a somersault.

A corner of his lips rose in a lopsided smile.

“Yet you laughed at me.”

Your eyes went wide, your heart positively stopping. Oh no. Oh _fucking_ no. He had seen you. He had seen you laughing. Oh shit you were so in trouble.

“Uhm-oh- I mean—not at you, Captain!” you hurried to explain, sensing the upcoming babbling of yours, but didn’t try to stop, in favour to justify your actions. “It’s the lines! It does feel like someone made them up just to get a good laugh, but not all of them anyway and-- I’m sorry. I promise it’s not because of you. Honestly, you have my full respect for not cracking when saying some of those. I wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face.”

He did crack a smile then and you realized due to the spark in his eyes that he was teasing you. You sighed in relief, almost melting into the seat. You definitely melted when he spoke up again.

“It’s… it’s just Steve. I like your honesty.”

He surprised you when saying your name then; it dawned to you had never introduced yourself and he must have read your name on the nametag. You wanted to face-palm at that realization, but given everything you had done, all the social rules you had broken, this seemed like a minor detail.

“Oh, I’m always honest, okay. Unless it can get me fired; so I would be really grateful if you didn’t tell anyone I said some of the lines were ridiculous, because then I _will_ get fired…”

His smile widened, looking nearly boyish now. “Your secret is safe with me. Just don’t tell them I feel like… well, _this_.”

He gestured towards the sketchbook, a new hint of a blush creeping up his neck. How could a man built like a rock be so cute?

“Yes, sir.”

“Steve.”

“Yes, Sir, Steve,” you repeated dutifully, grinning. You had no idea how he had managed to put you in such ease, since you were a bit (ha, you wish) star-struck. But he was so down to Earth it disarmed you completely; and allowed you to relax.

“Now you’re just mocking me.”

You shrugged and revealed your thoughts. Well, some of them anyway, you were not ready to admit you found him cute. He would probably not like that. “Maybe. I’m sorry. I tend to do that when I find out people are down-to-Earth. I appreciate that.”

“Well, how would you feel about sharing lunch?” He beckoned to one of the shelves and you noticed one of the boxes from the catering company.

Had he not had lunch yet? Also, did he just offer you to _share_ the said lunch? What the hell was happening?

“Uhm…”

“I promise I’m germ free and if you’re not, the serum can handle that,” he assured you, the lopsided smile returning, his eyes inviting.

“Oh…. Uhm. I can’t— I can’t just rob Captain America of his food. I imagine all the muscles need energy-- I did not just say that--- oh god,” you ended up murmuring, actually face-palming. He laughed.

“I offered. And if I’m being honest, I wasn’t feeling like eating that before, so…”

“What changed?” you snapped your head up, regretting it instantly when you found him watching you intently.

“The prospect of a pleasant company during the lunch?”

Oh _wow_. Air got stuck in your throat, your heart loudly protesting in your chest. This really was happening. How?

Better yet, how could you say no? No matter how surreal the suggestion was? His warm smile made your cheeks burn, words of agreement lost somewhere on the brain-to-mouth, but also caressed your soul and gently ignited your body in the best spirit.

“Oh… uhm… well, I guess it would be rude to decline such an offer, wouldn’t it? Even if I have a sandwich… somewhere on set… unless someone already stole my purse, I can’t even remember where I put it… uhm, rude.”

“Extremely rude,” he agreed wholeheartedly, grinning.

“Okay. Thank you. I’m just gonna… grab a plastic flatware and be right back,” you promised, jumping to your feet in haste (because you did not just imagine sharing his flatware at all, nope), wondering if the plucked up courage caused by his hospitality would be enough for you to actually return and not chicken out of… whatever this was.

“I can’t guarantee there will be anything left by then,” he joked, amused as you stumbled over your feet. _Way to make even a bigger fool of myself…_

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another meet-cute. Someone stop me, please. I really do want to go back to writing something consistent. It should probably be my New Year’s resolution. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ But hey, it’s the dancing monkey’s fault! (CA:TFA drawing) 
> 
> Also, I totally remembered Supernatural’s Hollywood Babylon (s02e18), where Sam and Dean are investigating strange accident on a set of a horror movie. Dean becomes a P.A., ‘one hell of a P.A.’ to be precise and it’s kinda hilarious.  
> D: “What's a P.A.?  
> S: “I think it's kinda like a slave.”  
> (In the first minute of this video in case you’re interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0PtLSH4Ryzk )


	2. A lunch date

You hadn’t made it back.

Your boss – the one whose P.A. you actually were – caught a glimpse of you and demanded your services. He wanted you to get him a smoothie immediately. Then to bring new batteries to his _whatever._ And then his wife stopped by, so he ordered coffee and a pie. You wanted to scream in frustration – and the simple annoying tasks had zero to do with it, because you had counted on those.

What you hadn’t signed up for was promising a very down-to-Earth charming soldier, whom you had somehow managed to cheer up, a lunch and then ditching him. By the time you had a minute to breathe in, you saw him back in front of the camera, reciting the ridiculous lines with ferocity and a glint of disappointment when he caught your gaze. You both quickly looked away.

You felt like an idiot and you were determined to apologize and explain yourself, despite not having an actual excuse outside of being a fucking P.A and doing your job.

You finally managed to sneak near his van after six p.m. after the set was wrapped up. You were exhausted physically and psychically, but with a determination in every cell of your body. It totally died the moment you knocked on the door and his quiet ‘yes’ invited you in.

With your heart beating out of your chest, anxiety eating you up, you peeked in, biting your lower lip.

He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans with a leather jacket that would have given him an aura or bad boy if there weren’t for his baby-blues. He looked like a freaking god. But most importantly, he looked honestly shocked to see you – then his expression shifted, flashing a bit of anger, you supposed, and then he just settled on polite neutral; saying your name with the same zero emotion he had written on his face.

Your insides clenched uncomfortably in regret and shame as he looked back on his bag, returning to packing his things absently.

“Good evening, Captain. I’m sorry to bother you before you leaving but… I just wanted to— I wanted to-- I have to apologize,” you stuttered, embarrassed like hell, your eyes pinned to the floor. You were standing in the doorway, not daring to enter fully in case you would want to run as the coward you were.

“For what?” he asked with a frown, turning to you, stopping the packing in the process.

“For, uhm…” you looked around, unsure how to phrase it and took a step inside. Sorry for… _disappointing you? Not keeping my promise? Giving you a premise of a lunch filled with relaxed conversation and then not showing up?_ None of these seemed right.

You noticed an untouched food in an opened container on a table and froze. Oh. _Oh. Shit._

“Oh god, you waited for me,” you burst out, horrified, the shame giving a sharp pang in your gut. Oh god, he had actually waited for you to come back. If you weren’t feeling so sorry, you would think it was utterly sweet and gentlemanly thing to do. But you were.

“I’m officially the worst person ever. I’m responsible for starving you. Oh god. I’m so sorry for not showing up, believe me, I tried my best, but Mr. Pratt wouldn’t let me take a single break and I know that it’s no excuse, I should have at least let you know, but-”

“Hey, hey, slow down. Take a breath,” he instructed you, taking several steps your direction, packing be damned. He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch your forearm, but changed his mind in the last moment. You gulped and did as he asked, realizing you were actually panicking. “Sit down, please… breathe in again. Good.”

You were on a chair near the door now, focusing on taking depth breaths, mentally yelling at yourself to pull yourself together, because this was ridiculous. You were absolutely over-reacting, you knew that, but you couldn’t help yourself.

You _could_ goddammit, _just get a fucking grip-_

“That’s not fair,” you let out finally, his eyes watching you with concern as he was leaned to you. “You’re so good to me, Captain Rogers and I—I-“

“I thought we were on the first name basis.”

Right. But that had been before you ditched him. It was nice that he insisted anyway.

“S-sorry, Steve.”

“And for your information, it was not your fault I didn’t eat. Technically, you were the reason why I actually had an appetite for few minutes. So, if nothing else, you didn’t make it worse,” he reassured you, brushing your arm few times before he kept his hands to himself again.

The place he had touched you burned as much as your cheeks.

“That’s not reassuring— Steve.”

He made a face. “It was giving more sense in my head. The point is, it’s okay. It’s barely your fault you were doing your job.”

The unexplainable weight fell off your shoulders, allowing you to settle. You charmed a tiny apologetic smile even, managing to look straight into his eyes, only to catch yourself drowning.

“I’m still sorry. Is there a way to make it up to you? I know all the coffee places here. I can get you the best coffee in the neighbourhood and I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to snatch a piece of pie from Pratt. I mean, I did bring it to him.”

Steve smiled widely when he detected the shift in your mood and crossed his arms on his chest.

“Nice try,” he exclaimed, standing up straight, which meant he was towering over you now. “But… I’m afraid that’s not gonna cut it, you know.”

You blinked in surprise, confused by the sudden change in his behaviour. Also, you would swear you sense a bit of playfulness in his words, put you couldn’t put your finger on why.

“W-what?”

The very same second, your pager went off again. Pratt needed you – no, Pratt _wanted_ you back on the leash. You gulped under Steve’s intense gaze, hesitant to react to the call. You had barely apologized to him and now you were about to head out again.

With a shaky inhale, you ignored the annoying beeping, earning a content grin from Steve.

“Let me take you to lunch tomorrow. Make up for missing an appointment by having another lunch with me,” he suggested and this time you caught a hint of worry in his expression.

You felt your jaw fall on the floor as the words echoed in your head. What— _what_? Did he really just… ask you to have lunch with him? Why the hell did it sound as if he… that wasn’t possible, right? You must have heard wrong.

“You… you’re serious,” you stated, absolutely taken aback.

 _As if he was asking you to a date._ _Ridiculous._

“Very.”

_Or not._

You gulped, the euphoria slowly igniting every cell in your body. He had asked you out. He wanted to have a lunch with you, tomor-

Oh _FUCK_. You couldn’t even indulge the joy, because there was no way Pratt would let you have a lunch. You were lucky enough to pee for god’s sake or have a tiny bite of your snack between his ordering around.

Lunch? As in at least an hour of time away from him? No way. Steve’s job might have been done here, but yours…

“I- I’m not sure Pratt will let me-… uhm. I’m actually pretty sure he won’t,“ you whispered, ashamed and utterly disappointed.

“Is that a yes?” he quirked up, looking pleased. You furrowed your brows. Did you mumble? Did he not understand you?

“What-? No. I mean, I would totally say yes, even though I am missing the logic here, because I messed up and you are giving me another shot which feels more like a reward, but… I won’t be able to even get a lunch break in the first place.”

“You didn’t mess up,” he murmured. “So if you could…”

“I would come,” you confirmed, losing yourself in the intent eyes observing you. It was all very much beautiful and incredible, but… if you couldn’t go tomorrow, what was the point of telling him this? You did it anyway. “Of course I would. Just like I would have today.”

“Good. So call your boss.”

Your mouth fell agape. “I’m sorry?”

“Ask him if you could get a lunch break tomorrow.”

“But that’s— that’s not-“ you stuttered, taken aback by the crazy idea. It was an utter non-sense. There was no hope for him saying say yes. So why even call him? To piss him off?

“Please?” Steve whispered, levelling himself with you, giving you an encouraging smile, looking at you from under the unfairly long eyelashes of his and you were a goner.

“I might as well just hand him my resignation…” But was it worth it? One lunch with Steve versus a keeping this short-time gig? You could use the money, there was no doubt… but the outlook of lunch with this fine man… you sighed and pulled out your phone, turning the pager off so you could hear Pratt speaking instead of listening to the beeping. “I’m gonna get fired… Mr. Pratt-“

“WHERE ARE YOU? I’M TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR TEN GODDAMNED MINUTES!”

 _Exaggeration. Good start._ You put some distance between your ear and the speaker, grimacing.

Well, it already looked like you might be free tomorrow – jobless – before you would even get to the subject of the call.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Pratt-“

You did not expect Steve to take your phone from your hand – it shocked you enough that you didn’t even protest, your fingers letting go of the device without consulting your brain.

“Mr. Pratt, this is Captain Rogers-“ Steve announced in something you would only describe as his _captain_ voice. And boy, did it do things to you…

Yet, you were so hyped up that you just mouthed a surprised ‘what happened to ‘it’s just Steve’’, which caused the man’s lips twitch in amusement and he held out a hand to you so you would keep quiet.

Utterly confused, taken aback and excited at the same time, you mimicked locking your lips and throwing away the key.

What the hell was he doing?

 _“Oh, Captain? What can I do for you?”_ you heard Pratt’s surprised and tamed voice from the other end of the line.

If you wouldn’t have been busy wondering about Steve’s unexpected actions, you would have rolled your eyes at the immediate change in Pratt’s attitude. _Good little spineless bootlicker._

“First of all, you could stop yelling at your assistant. I asked her to stop by in my van, because…  I needed her to help me pack.”

Oh wow, Captain America was the worst liar ever. That explained so much. Especially why he had done so well and seemed so natural during doing the PSA about lying to authorities. You did appreciate Steve’s note about Pratt yelling at you, though. You smiled at him gratefully.

_“Oh. I’m sorry. She didn’t tell me.”_

“It was rude of me to snatch her like that, so _I am_ sorry.” You couldn’t help but giggle at the serious expression on Steve's face when he said that.

_“It’s no trouble, Captain Rogers. Not at all. I’m sorry for disturbing-“_

“That’s perfectly alright, Mr. Pratt. But I would actually like to ask a favour-“

You opened your mouth, but Steve just shook his head so you kept quiet. _And here it comes…_

_“Of course. What can I do for you?“_

You could _not_ believe this guy. And it applied for both of them, actually.

“May I borrow her tomorrow?” Steve asked easily, causing an incredulous smile attack your lips and somehow, you rose to your feet without realizing it. Perhaps to be closer to the miracle that might be in progress. “Let’s say from half past eleven a.m. to two p.m.?“

 _“Absolutely, she would be at your service, Captain,”_ Pratt offered graciously – and kinda as if you were a piece of meat to sell, but hey, at least this was a pleasant trade and you couldn’t say that you minded. _“But… if it’s not too rude to ask… may I know what for?”_

Steve grinned at you. “We’re having a lunch. Thank you, Mr. Pratt. I’ll pick her up on eleven thirty sharp.”

And then he hung up, handing you the phone casually.

“Looks like you’re free for tomorrow lunch. Would you like to have one with me?” he asked politely and you stared at him speechless for a long moment, until you cracked and started laughing at his question and couldn’t help but tease him.

“What if I said no now?”

Steve’s satisfaction and cheeriness was immediately overtaken by shadow of disappointment, but he gave you a gentle smile.

“Well, then I guess I would pick you up and let you go wherever you wanted to, since I’ve already arranged for you to have a break.”

And he seemed absolutely serious about it, offering you an out if you needed and it made you want to scream yes to his lunch date even more.

“That doesn’t seem right. I think I’ll go with you. Thank you, Steve.”

“You don’t have to feel obliged, you know. If— if you don’t want to-“ he stuttered, and within seconds, he was back to the guy whom you had found earlier this day sitting on the couch, sketching and feeling like nothing (or a dancing monkey, really).

It broke your heart a little and caused you did something stupid; you reached for his hand hanging by his side, squeezing lightly, and you made sure to into his eyes despite feeling nervous at such a bold gesture.

“I’d love to go to lunch with you, Steve.”

Your reward was a gorgeous smile, lighting up his eyes. “Then it’s settled. Do you have any preferences?”

You almost melted at his thoughtfulness, warmth spreading in your chest as he squeezed your fingers in return.

“No, I don’t think so. Surprise me, Steve.”

_Something tells me it won’t be a problem for you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was fun. Perhaps a little silly, but hey. 
> 
> FYI: The very first SPN’s Dean’s task was to bring a smoothie. He wasn’t even a P.A. at that time. Just a little reference ;)


End file.
